Not really on topic, unless you count the school orchestra as family
Every year, my former school go on a tour to somewhere in Europe. They always invite former members back, and, as year year we were going to Venice, a couple of friends and I were only too keen.

It was, to say the least, brilliant, (also, we met Razorlight on the ferry on the way back. No, really), but for one poor first year, it was nothing less than a week of hell.

His name is Henry, he's very short, quite rotund and has a bit of a stutter, but doesn't have a malicious bone in him. On the first night, we were disappointed to learn that he was feeling homesick and wanted to leave. However, our teachers persauded him to stay and see if he enjoyed it more the next day. Willing to give it another go, he toddled off to bed for a blissful night of sleep.

Not so, for he was sharing a room with a fourth year called *name withheld*, who ought to be outlawed under the geneva convention. Very funny, but possibly quite intimidating for a young'un and with a penchant for never ever shutting up. The next morning, he understandbly complained and was moved into a room with some second years, and we hoped from now on he would enjoy the trip,

That day, we went to a water park outside Venice. Henry dutifully applied his factor fifty, as the sun was out, and then went off to have some fun.

In the intervening time, which was not without incident (our conductor somwhow contrived to break her foot whilst playing the hilarity that is soapy football), the sunblock had obviously worn off. Many of us got burned, but Henry began to resemble a telephone box. Honestly, if you could choose a colout for someone to go for sheer comedic effect, it would be that one. The image was completed with his small, worried white face standing in stark contrast to the rest of him.

That night, he was sick nine times. The next day, he refused to put on a shirt because of the pain, and didn't leave the hotel all day. One of our teachers was peeved, to say the least, at ahving to stay with him.

Things didn't get much better for the sun sponge. On the way back after a few days of constant misery, he was already in low spirits at the beginning of the twenty-four hour coach journey. Disaster struck, though, when three hours in, at midday, on the middle lane of the italian motorway not far from Milan, the caoch broke down. With it went the air conditioning.

Obviously, this being the middle lane, everyone was packed into the front half of the bus, should a car blunder in to the back of us. Apparently we got on the national news. The temperature reached 36 degrees. A number of phonecalls to four different police station later, and there still seemed no sign of rescue.

It took three and a half hours before the italians decided to do anything about us. Henry was a broken boy by the end of it. I don't think he'll be going back next year, somehow.
(WarneMarsh My priority for frivolity begets quality jollity, Fri 3 Aug 2007, 15:35, Reply)